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My Boy Builds Coffins
par
Florence Welch
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My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails He doesn't make tables, dressers or chairs He can't carve a whistle 'cause he just doesn't care My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day But it's not just for work and it isn't for play He's made one for himself, one for me too One of these days he'll make one for you For you... For you... For you... My boy builds coffins for better or worse Some say it's a blessing, some say it's a curse He fits them togеther in sunshine or rain Each one is uniquе, no two are the same My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day But it's not just for work and it isn't for play He's made one for himself, one for me too And one of these days he'll make one for you For you... For you... He'll make one... He'll make one for you...
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